Zoot the Saxer
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WHOA THE SUSPENSE!!!!! Poor Digit...
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A Robotic Heart (Revisited and Re-Wired)
- Thread starter AnimatedC9000
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AnimatedC9000
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To quote a certain kiwi repair-bird, "Never mind Digit, what about my tool belt?"
AnimatedC9000
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((A/N: Ladies and gentlemen, this is Chapter 7 of A Robotic Heart.))
----------
After we left my home, we traveled for quite a while. We occasionally took some side-stops for some photo opportunities, but our only main stops were for food, gasoline, and sleep. (Both of us slept out in the car to save money for the former two items until one night, when I malfunctioned from chills so badly that we had to check in to an actual place where we could sleep.) Other than that, we drove on the open road by daylight, determined to find a place to live (or possibly a college I could attend; Lindbergh had also expressed the idea of getting a degree in electrical engineering to help out with my circuitry repairs).
It was during one of our stops at a diner that I started to feel a little homesick. Even though it had only been about a week since we had left, I was concerned about my mother and her safety. As much as I had wanted to stay with her, I knew that there was no other choice but to move on.
Lindbergh and I were seated in a booth, waiting for the waitress to come by with our orders. I was staring out the window, watching the cars go by. As I thought about my troubles, I let out a sigh.
My companion must’ve heard the sigh (obviously; he was sitting right across from me), because he immediately spoke to me afterwards. “Something wrong, Michael?” he asked.
“I don’t know, Lindbergh,” I said to him. “It’s just that… well…”
The kiwi nodded, understanding my problems. “You miss your mom, don’t you?”
I swallowed something that was in my throat before responding to him. “… yes,” I confessed, looking down at my hands, “very much so.”
“Aw, don’t worry too much about her, Michael,” my friend said to me. “You’ve got the rest of your life ahead of you. Besides, it’s natural to get homesick every once in a while.”
“I know that, Lindbergh,” I addressed to him, hardly looking up, “but I think that this is an extreme case of something, if not homesickness.”
“Michael,” the kiwi began, “it’s okay if you’re like this right now. You’ve just left your home, you've been through who knows how much, and you have a lot of things on your mind right now. You probably feel that the whole weight of the world is on your shoulders now, am I right?”
“Something like that, yes,” I responded. “Plus, I want to find a college to go to so that I can at least get a passable job.”
“Career?”
“Yes, that.”
“Well, whatever happens,” Lindbergh continued, “I want you to remember one thing.”
It was then that I looked up at him. “What’s that?” I asked.
My friend smiled at me. “I want you to know that you’ll always have a friend in me.”
I gave a small smile back, pondering my companion’s words. Out of all the people I knew, he was the only one other than my mother who treated me like I was still normal in appearance and not like I was an experiment out of a science-fiction film. In all honesty, he was the first true friend that I ever had. “Thank you, Lindbergh.”
“Blasted TV,” I heard a man say before he stood up.
“So, do you feel better?” Lindbergh asked with a smile.
“Why yes,” I answered, “but I still have a funny feeling in me that won’t go away…”
“Wonder what it is,” the kiwi commented.
Around that time, the man started to change the channels on the TV. Right at that moment, I started to glitch up a bit.
“And now for the forecast of the week,” I began before I started to sing. “Sunday, Monday, happy days! Tuesday Wednesday-- Sunny day! Sweepin’ the clouds away! Lucy, I’m home! Book ‘em, Danno!”
Little did I know (as well as I later learned from Lindbergh explaining things to me) that some of the patrons of the restaurant were giving me odd looks. Fortunately, the channel-changing came to rest on a broadcast of “Hello, Dolly!” “… and one more thing: we are not coming back to Yonkers until we have each kissed a girl.”
“Guess it was a glitch after all,” I heard Lindbergh say. “I should fix that soon.” He paused. “But why do you want to kiss a girl?”
“I’m twenty-eight and three-quarters,” I answered him, influenced by the broadcast. “I got to begin some time.” In actuality, I was around 19 or so.
“Well, I’m a plumber,” my friend replied. “I thought I could meet girls any time I wanted to.”
“Here you go, boys,” a female voice said. It was the waitress, but in my glitches state I mistook her for the title character from the movie.
“Mrs. Levi,” I said, slightly surprised.
The waitress raised an eyebrow. “Uh yeah. You’re orders are here.”
“Oh goody!” Lindbergh softly exclaimed.
“We were only talking,” I told her, trying to cover up for my friend and myself.
“Right,” the waitress said. “Now, unless these are your orders, I could probably send them back to the kitchen to exchange them for your actual meals.”
“What ladies?” I asked her, still in tune with Michael Crawford’s character.
“Okay, kid, you’re freaking me out,” the waitress said to me.
“Okay, here’s a cheeseburger with no onions…” She set the plate in front of me.
“Irene Malloy?” I repeated.
“The name’s Babs.” The waitress rolled her eyes before handing Lindbergh his order. “You put up with this guy?” she asked him.
“Oh, he’s just glitching,” the kiwi explained to her.
“… your orders cost $9.95,” the waitress told both of us, “and you can pay before you leave.” She left the table herself, muttering something under her breath about “weirdos”.
I had a look of surprise on my face. “A millinery shop,” I stated.
“Why are you talking about a hat shop?” Lindbergh questioned before starting to eat.
“Adventure, Barnaby,” I said again, my voice growing in excitement.
“It’s Lindbergh, actually,” my friend said, concern in his voice.
“Living, Barnaby!” I exclaimed.
“Who’s Barnaby? I’m not Barnaby!” the kiwi stated, concerned about my well-being.
“Will ya come, Barnaby?” I asked him.
“I’m already traveling with you,” “Barnaby” answered. “Of course, I’ll come!”
“The lights of Broadway!” I exclaimed, stepping onto the table. “Elevated trains! The stuffed whale at Barnum’s museum!”
“Wow, I didn’t know that they had a stuffed whale there,” Lindbergh said before he continued to eat. “We should go there sometime. New York sounds nice around this time of year.”
“Let’s get dressed, Barnaby,” I told him, “we’re going to New York!”
“We are?” my friend asked, nearly finished with his meal.
I answered him by singing. “Out there, there's a world outside of Yonkers. Way out there beyond this hick town, Barnaby… there’s a slick town, Barnaby. Out there, full of shine and full of sparkle. Close your eyes and see it glisten, Barnaby. Listen, Barnaby…”
“I’m listening, Michael,” “Barnaby” told me, “but all I can hear is you singing along with the TV--oh, I think I know what's going on now.”
“Put on your Sunday clothes, There's lots of world out there!” I sang again, getting up from the table. “Get out the brilliantine and dime cigars.”
“But neither of us smoke,” the kiwi reminded me.
“We're gonna find adventure in the evening air,” I continued to sing, hardly hearing my friend over the music. “Girls in white in a perfumed night where the lights are bright as the stars!”
“It sounds fancy!” Lindbergh commented.
“Put on your Sunday clothes, we're gonna ride through town,” I continued, glad that my friend was getting into it, “in one of those new horsedrawn open cars!”
“Yeah!” my friend exclaimed before joining me in singing the rest of the verse. “We'll see the shows at Delmonico’s, and we'll close the town in a whirl. And we won't come until we've kissed a girl!”
I was surprised, but not too startled, to hear Babs the waitress sing as well. “Put on your Sunday clothes when you feel down and out,” she sang. “Strut down the street and have your picture took. Dressed like a dream your spirits seem to turn about. That Sunday shine is a certain sign that you feel as fine as you look!”
A female customer and her male friend joined in and started to sing with her. “Beneath your parasol, the world is all a smile that makes you feel brand new down to your toes!”
Lindbergh and I joined them in song. “Get out your feathers, your patent leathers, your beads and buckles and bows,” we sang. “For there's no blue Monday in your Sunday... No Monday in your Sunday... No Monday in your Sunday clothes!”
Then, all the diner seemed to come to life with the sound of music. “Put on your Sunday clothes when you feel down and out. Strut down the street and have your picture took.”
“Dressed like a dream your spirits seem to turn about,” Babs sang as she led us in the verse. “That Sunday shine is a certain sign that you feel as fine as you look!”
“Beneath your parasol, the world is all a smile,” the waitresses and female customers sang.
“That makes you feel brand new down to your toes,” we all sang. “Get out your feathers, your patent leathers, your beads and buckles and bows. For there's no blue Monday in your Sunday clothes!”
After that verse, all the patrons and employees started to dance, including Lindbergh and myself. I was actually surprised by my own dance skills, considering that I‘ve hardly danced before.
“Put on your Sunday clothes when you feel down and out,” the children in the diner sang. “Strut down the street and have your picture took.”
“Dressed like a dream your spirits seem to turn about,” the women sang.
“That Sunday shine is a certain sign that you feel as fine as you look!” we all sang. “Beneath your bowler brim the world's a simple song, a lovely lilt that makes you tilt your nose. Get out your slickers, your flannel knickers, your red suspenders and hose. For there's no blue Monday in your Sunday clothes!”
“Modulate, everybody!” someone shouted.
“Put on your Sunday clothes there's lots of world out there,” everyone in the diner sang. “Put on your silk cravat and patent shoes. We're gonna find adventure in the evening air.”
“To town we'll trot to a smokey spot where the girls are hot as a fuse!” Babs sang out, mainly addressing my companion and I.
“Wow!” all of us exclaimed before we continued to sing. “Put on your silk high hat and at the turned up cuff. We'll wear a hand made gray suede buttoned glove.”
“We wanna take New York by storm!” Babs took the solo as Lindbergh and I were happily going along with it, dancing towards the front of the diner.
“We'll join the Astors at Tony Pastor's and this I'm positive of,” everyone sang. “That we won't come home…”
Lindbergh gave the cashier a ten-dollar bill to pay for our meals. “No we won't come home…”
The two of us then danced to the door and finished the song. “No we won't come home until we fall in love!”
The door closed behind us, leaving the two of us outside the diner.
“Wow, that was fun,” the kiwi commented to me, walking to the car. “Everyone seemed really into it! You know, New York does sound like fun, Michael. We should go there sometime.”
“Adventure, Barnaby!” I exclaimed, sitting on the hood of the automobile.
“Oh yeah,” Lindbergh remembered, “you have a glitch.” He went to get his tool belt out of the car and then dragged me to the back seat. “This will only take a few minutes, Michael.”
That’s all I remember hearing before I shut down.
~o~o~
When I woke up, we were on the road again. Lindbergh was listening to the radio while driving.
I tapped my friend on the shoulder. “Lindbergh, why was I dreaming that I was in a musical?” I asked him, puzzled.
“Long story, Michael,” the kiwi answered. “I’ll tell you all about it later.”
----------
After we left my home, we traveled for quite a while. We occasionally took some side-stops for some photo opportunities, but our only main stops were for food, gasoline, and sleep. (Both of us slept out in the car to save money for the former two items until one night, when I malfunctioned from chills so badly that we had to check in to an actual place where we could sleep.) Other than that, we drove on the open road by daylight, determined to find a place to live (or possibly a college I could attend; Lindbergh had also expressed the idea of getting a degree in electrical engineering to help out with my circuitry repairs).
It was during one of our stops at a diner that I started to feel a little homesick. Even though it had only been about a week since we had left, I was concerned about my mother and her safety. As much as I had wanted to stay with her, I knew that there was no other choice but to move on.
Lindbergh and I were seated in a booth, waiting for the waitress to come by with our orders. I was staring out the window, watching the cars go by. As I thought about my troubles, I let out a sigh.
My companion must’ve heard the sigh (obviously; he was sitting right across from me), because he immediately spoke to me afterwards. “Something wrong, Michael?” he asked.
“I don’t know, Lindbergh,” I said to him. “It’s just that… well…”
The kiwi nodded, understanding my problems. “You miss your mom, don’t you?”
I swallowed something that was in my throat before responding to him. “… yes,” I confessed, looking down at my hands, “very much so.”
“Aw, don’t worry too much about her, Michael,” my friend said to me. “You’ve got the rest of your life ahead of you. Besides, it’s natural to get homesick every once in a while.”
“I know that, Lindbergh,” I addressed to him, hardly looking up, “but I think that this is an extreme case of something, if not homesickness.”
“Michael,” the kiwi began, “it’s okay if you’re like this right now. You’ve just left your home, you've been through who knows how much, and you have a lot of things on your mind right now. You probably feel that the whole weight of the world is on your shoulders now, am I right?”
“Something like that, yes,” I responded. “Plus, I want to find a college to go to so that I can at least get a passable job.”
“Career?”
“Yes, that.”
“Well, whatever happens,” Lindbergh continued, “I want you to remember one thing.”
It was then that I looked up at him. “What’s that?” I asked.
My friend smiled at me. “I want you to know that you’ll always have a friend in me.”
I gave a small smile back, pondering my companion’s words. Out of all the people I knew, he was the only one other than my mother who treated me like I was still normal in appearance and not like I was an experiment out of a science-fiction film. In all honesty, he was the first true friend that I ever had. “Thank you, Lindbergh.”
“Blasted TV,” I heard a man say before he stood up.
“So, do you feel better?” Lindbergh asked with a smile.
“Why yes,” I answered, “but I still have a funny feeling in me that won’t go away…”
“Wonder what it is,” the kiwi commented.
Around that time, the man started to change the channels on the TV. Right at that moment, I started to glitch up a bit.
“And now for the forecast of the week,” I began before I started to sing. “Sunday, Monday, happy days! Tuesday Wednesday-- Sunny day! Sweepin’ the clouds away! Lucy, I’m home! Book ‘em, Danno!”
Little did I know (as well as I later learned from Lindbergh explaining things to me) that some of the patrons of the restaurant were giving me odd looks. Fortunately, the channel-changing came to rest on a broadcast of “Hello, Dolly!” “… and one more thing: we are not coming back to Yonkers until we have each kissed a girl.”
“Guess it was a glitch after all,” I heard Lindbergh say. “I should fix that soon.” He paused. “But why do you want to kiss a girl?”
“I’m twenty-eight and three-quarters,” I answered him, influenced by the broadcast. “I got to begin some time.” In actuality, I was around 19 or so.
“Well, I’m a plumber,” my friend replied. “I thought I could meet girls any time I wanted to.”
“Here you go, boys,” a female voice said. It was the waitress, but in my glitches state I mistook her for the title character from the movie.
“Mrs. Levi,” I said, slightly surprised.
The waitress raised an eyebrow. “Uh yeah. You’re orders are here.”
“Oh goody!” Lindbergh softly exclaimed.
“We were only talking,” I told her, trying to cover up for my friend and myself.
“Right,” the waitress said. “Now, unless these are your orders, I could probably send them back to the kitchen to exchange them for your actual meals.”
“What ladies?” I asked her, still in tune with Michael Crawford’s character.
“Okay, kid, you’re freaking me out,” the waitress said to me.
“Okay, here’s a cheeseburger with no onions…” She set the plate in front of me.
“Irene Malloy?” I repeated.
“The name’s Babs.” The waitress rolled her eyes before handing Lindbergh his order. “You put up with this guy?” she asked him.
“Oh, he’s just glitching,” the kiwi explained to her.
“… your orders cost $9.95,” the waitress told both of us, “and you can pay before you leave.” She left the table herself, muttering something under her breath about “weirdos”.
I had a look of surprise on my face. “A millinery shop,” I stated.
“Why are you talking about a hat shop?” Lindbergh questioned before starting to eat.
“Adventure, Barnaby,” I said again, my voice growing in excitement.
“It’s Lindbergh, actually,” my friend said, concern in his voice.
“Living, Barnaby!” I exclaimed.
“Who’s Barnaby? I’m not Barnaby!” the kiwi stated, concerned about my well-being.
“Will ya come, Barnaby?” I asked him.
“I’m already traveling with you,” “Barnaby” answered. “Of course, I’ll come!”
“The lights of Broadway!” I exclaimed, stepping onto the table. “Elevated trains! The stuffed whale at Barnum’s museum!”
“Wow, I didn’t know that they had a stuffed whale there,” Lindbergh said before he continued to eat. “We should go there sometime. New York sounds nice around this time of year.”
“Let’s get dressed, Barnaby,” I told him, “we’re going to New York!”
“We are?” my friend asked, nearly finished with his meal.
I answered him by singing. “Out there, there's a world outside of Yonkers. Way out there beyond this hick town, Barnaby… there’s a slick town, Barnaby. Out there, full of shine and full of sparkle. Close your eyes and see it glisten, Barnaby. Listen, Barnaby…”
“I’m listening, Michael,” “Barnaby” told me, “but all I can hear is you singing along with the TV--oh, I think I know what's going on now.”
“Put on your Sunday clothes, There's lots of world out there!” I sang again, getting up from the table. “Get out the brilliantine and dime cigars.”
“But neither of us smoke,” the kiwi reminded me.
“We're gonna find adventure in the evening air,” I continued to sing, hardly hearing my friend over the music. “Girls in white in a perfumed night where the lights are bright as the stars!”
“It sounds fancy!” Lindbergh commented.
“Put on your Sunday clothes, we're gonna ride through town,” I continued, glad that my friend was getting into it, “in one of those new horsedrawn open cars!”
“Yeah!” my friend exclaimed before joining me in singing the rest of the verse. “We'll see the shows at Delmonico’s, and we'll close the town in a whirl. And we won't come until we've kissed a girl!”
I was surprised, but not too startled, to hear Babs the waitress sing as well. “Put on your Sunday clothes when you feel down and out,” she sang. “Strut down the street and have your picture took. Dressed like a dream your spirits seem to turn about. That Sunday shine is a certain sign that you feel as fine as you look!”
A female customer and her male friend joined in and started to sing with her. “Beneath your parasol, the world is all a smile that makes you feel brand new down to your toes!”
Lindbergh and I joined them in song. “Get out your feathers, your patent leathers, your beads and buckles and bows,” we sang. “For there's no blue Monday in your Sunday... No Monday in your Sunday... No Monday in your Sunday clothes!”
Then, all the diner seemed to come to life with the sound of music. “Put on your Sunday clothes when you feel down and out. Strut down the street and have your picture took.”
“Dressed like a dream your spirits seem to turn about,” Babs sang as she led us in the verse. “That Sunday shine is a certain sign that you feel as fine as you look!”
“Beneath your parasol, the world is all a smile,” the waitresses and female customers sang.
“That makes you feel brand new down to your toes,” we all sang. “Get out your feathers, your patent leathers, your beads and buckles and bows. For there's no blue Monday in your Sunday clothes!”
After that verse, all the patrons and employees started to dance, including Lindbergh and myself. I was actually surprised by my own dance skills, considering that I‘ve hardly danced before.
“Put on your Sunday clothes when you feel down and out,” the children in the diner sang. “Strut down the street and have your picture took.”
“Dressed like a dream your spirits seem to turn about,” the women sang.
“That Sunday shine is a certain sign that you feel as fine as you look!” we all sang. “Beneath your bowler brim the world's a simple song, a lovely lilt that makes you tilt your nose. Get out your slickers, your flannel knickers, your red suspenders and hose. For there's no blue Monday in your Sunday clothes!”
“Modulate, everybody!” someone shouted.
“Put on your Sunday clothes there's lots of world out there,” everyone in the diner sang. “Put on your silk cravat and patent shoes. We're gonna find adventure in the evening air.”
“To town we'll trot to a smokey spot where the girls are hot as a fuse!” Babs sang out, mainly addressing my companion and I.
“Wow!” all of us exclaimed before we continued to sing. “Put on your silk high hat and at the turned up cuff. We'll wear a hand made gray suede buttoned glove.”
“We wanna take New York by storm!” Babs took the solo as Lindbergh and I were happily going along with it, dancing towards the front of the diner.
“We'll join the Astors at Tony Pastor's and this I'm positive of,” everyone sang. “That we won't come home…”
Lindbergh gave the cashier a ten-dollar bill to pay for our meals. “No we won't come home…”
The two of us then danced to the door and finished the song. “No we won't come home until we fall in love!”
The door closed behind us, leaving the two of us outside the diner.
“Wow, that was fun,” the kiwi commented to me, walking to the car. “Everyone seemed really into it! You know, New York does sound like fun, Michael. We should go there sometime.”
“Adventure, Barnaby!” I exclaimed, sitting on the hood of the automobile.
“Oh yeah,” Lindbergh remembered, “you have a glitch.” He went to get his tool belt out of the car and then dragged me to the back seat. “This will only take a few minutes, Michael.”
That’s all I remember hearing before I shut down.
~o~o~
When I woke up, we were on the road again. Lindbergh was listening to the radio while driving.
I tapped my friend on the shoulder. “Lindbergh, why was I dreaming that I was in a musical?” I asked him, puzzled.
“Long story, Michael,” the kiwi answered. “I’ll tell you all about it later.”
AnimatedC9000
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((A/N: Nope! On to Chapter 8 of A Robotic Heart!))
---------
As much fun as falling in love and kissing a girl had sounded at the time, I was too devoted to my studies to pursue such an idea. Besides, based on my past experiences with romance, I wasn’t exactly what people might call a ladies’ man. The accident made my love life even worse… Come to think of it, up until a certain series of events in the 1980s, I never really had much of a love life to begin with...
Anyway, Lindbergh and I were searching for a college for both of us to attend. We roamed from town to town in the car for weeks, looking for a college to accept me (as well as traveling from whatever job to job Lindbergh might have gotten along the way). So far, we hadn’t found any that would accept a… person with my condition. Preferably, they also were looking for an applicant who wasn't officially confirmed dead or missing. As well as someone who's appearance almost immediately didn't make the secretary call security. Or someone without too noticeable of an avian ancestry.
“Lindy,” I remarked to him one day, “with my kind of design, I belong in a technical institute instead of a regular college.”
“I think they could use you on the science force, Michael,” my friend told me, hardly taking his eyes off of the TV he was repairing. “Besides, I think that the space race is really getting big now. Hand me the screwdriver, will ya?”
Indeed, I had heard much about the race to space growing up. Ever since I was younger, I had always dreamed of working as a scientist for NASA, helping figure out more efficient ways to launch our astronauts into space and what experiments would work up there. To tell the truth, I was also fascinated with the unknown, and outer space had definitely captured my imagination, wonder, and interst. But if not that field of interest, I was always open in other studies relating to similar fields.
“Yes, I know that,” I said to Lindbergh, handing him the aforementioned screwdriver and peering over his shoulder as I watched him work. “I wonder if there are any technical institutes nearby...”
Shrugging, he responded, “Who knows? We'll just have to keep looking.” With that, he finished screwing in the last screw for the back of the repaired TV. “And, done! All finished with the repairs, Mister Gold!” he chipperly announced, lifting his head.
“Thank you, boys,” the elderly gentleman said, reaching for his cane as he stood up from his arm chair. “I'll be sure to pay you both for graciously helping me with that blasted thing. I don't understand it myself. It's been running great all this time, and yet one day it refuses to cooperate.”
“You're just lucky we happened to be passing through,” Lindbergh noted with a nod, moving the TV set back into place. “I had another job here in town, so things seemed to work out perfectly, didn't they?”
Mr. Gold nodded. “Indeed. Now, forgive me if I'm prying...” He turned to face the both of us. “But I couldn't help but overhear you two talking about getting into a college? A technical institute, your friend said.”
Lindbergh and I glanced between each other. “Well...” he began.
“It's complicated,” I explained. “I had a university already lined up, but due to certain events, I'm not able to attend.”
There was a bit of a pause hanging in the air before the man nodded again in understanding. “Fortunately for you gentlemen,” he calmly spoke, “I happen to be... acquainted, let's say, with a staff member at such an institution in a town nearby. You two seem to be in dire need of attending a college, from what I've heard, so...” A slight smile pulled on his face. “How's about I write you boys a letter of reccomendation and schedule for you to meet my acquaintence?”
My eyes widened. “Really?” I asked, not being able to believe it. “You would do that for us? Oh, thank you sir!” I joyfully began shaking his hand out of gratitude. “If there's anything we could ever--”
“Ah!” He held his hand up to stop me short. “You already did. So, in return for fixing my TV, I owe you.”
“Wow! Helping us out with a college for fixing a TV! What they can't pay you with these days,” Lindbergh said in awe. “You just tell us if you need anything else to be fixed again, and we'll be happy to help!”
“I'll keep that in mind, erm...” Mr. Gold paused and looked at us, confused as to what our names were.
“Lindbergh Kiwi,” the kiwi filled him in. “And this is--”
“Scott,” I said. “Erm, that's my last name though. My first name... erm...” I was a bit uncomfortable telling him my first name, especially since using my name with the other universities had gotten me a lot of questioning as to if it were a joke or if I had faked a death.
Mr. Gold sighed. “John Scott it is, then,” he concluded. I gave him a sheepish smile. Oh well, it would have to do.
Nodding, I agreed. “Thank you again.”
“Yeah, thanks a lot, Mister!” Lindbergh thanked him, packing up his toolset.
“Don't mention it,” Mr. Gold replied, a smile on his place. “I'll be sure to get you directions to the Jack Haley Technical Institute.”
My friend saluted as he continued to pack up up. I turned to him and gave a shy smile. “Thank you so much,” I thanked him again. “But, if I may ask you a question?”
“Go right ahead.”
“Why are you helping us?”
The elder man let out a light chuckle. “Well Michael, let's just say that I know how to recognize a desperate soul.”
~o~o~
After making all the arrangements, Mr. Gold sent us on our way with what we needed to get us there: food, directions, gas, the letters of reccomendation, and a nod. We never saw or heard from him again.
I held out a map for my friend to look at as he drove. I could hardly believe it. There I was, thinking that I wouldn’t get an education, and the opportunity of my lifetime was in the next town. It was a dream come true.
“Michael, you got your portfolio with you?”
The words of my comrade hardly reached my ears. I was too busy imagining what it would be like to finally work for NASA and to live my dream of being included in scientific history. It was remarkable. It was energizing, it was wonderful. It was--
“Michael! We’re almost there!”
Finally, my mind was brought back to reality with the help of my flightless friend. “Um, thank you for telling me that, Lindbergh,” I thanked him.
“Aw, it’s no trouble, Michael,” he replied. “Just didn’t want you to be so quiet anymore, so…”
“Found it!” I had been rummaging through my things, trying to find my portfolio to present to the college.
Lindbergh parked the car in the parking lot of the institute and helped me out of the car, the letters in his wings. “Well, Michael,” he stated, “this is it.”
All I could do was nod at my friend’s comment. This was it, my big chance--no, what we could do to show them all that we could be accepted into society, get a college-leveled education, and earn a job.
Naturally, I was nervous about everything.
“Lindbergh, what if they don’t accept me?” I asked him, a hint of doubt in my voice. They would accept Lindbergh, no problem. What if they turned me down because I was… different?
The kiwi patted me on the back. “You’ll do fine, Michael,” he said to me in a friendly manner, “I know you will.”
I gave the plumber a small smile in return. “Thank you, Lindbergh,” I replied.
“Anytime, Michael,” he replied. “Now, let’s get you accepted into that college.”
“Right. You too.” With that, both of us walked through the school doors and to the admission department office, never leaving the other‘s side.
There was a woman behind a desk typing on a typewriter. She seemed to be a secretary of sorts, so I knew that this must be the right place.
“Is this the administration office?” I asked the woman.
“Yes it is,” she answered, glancing at me as she spoke.
“Are you holding interviews for students today?” Lindbergh asked. Oh, how I hoped they were…
“Why, yes,” the woman said. “I’ll go tell the interviewer you’re here, Mr. …”
“Oh, we have an appointment,” he continued. “A Mister Gold told us to come here and meet with a...” He glanced at the name on the envelope before showing it to the secretary.
She observed the envelopes before nodding to us. “Mr. Scott, Mr. Kiwi,” she stated before going into another room.
I sat down beside Lindbergh in a chair, letting out a sigh of relief. That part was done.
“You’ll do fine, Michael,” my friend told me in a sing-song voice.
“Says you,” I answered in the same manner.
After a while of waiting, the secretary motioned for me to go inside.
“Wish me luck,” I whispered to my companion before standing up and walking into the interview room with my portfolio.
~o~o~
For confidentiality reasons, I won’t go into great detail about the entire interview. To be honest, I can't really remember a thing. It was all so fuzzy. I think I was nervous, but I tried not to show it too much.
After the interview was over, it was Lindbergh's turn. I waited patiently until he returned and joined me on a bench outside the office, awaiting our results.
“I think that it went pretty well, actually,” I confessed to the kiwi, trying to make small talk.
“You see? There was nothing to worry about, Michael,” my friend said to me.
The conversation continued from there, but the talk was halted when the secretary came out of the office. “Congratulations, Mr. Scott, Mr. Kiwi,” she told us. “You’ve been accepted into the campus.”
I immediately stood up, joy filling my body, and shook her hand. “Oh, thank you, ma’am!” I thanked her. “Thank you so much!”
The woman chuckled a bit. “I’m sure that you and your friend will enjoy it here” were her last words that she spoke to me before she disappeared back into the office.
“The recommendations worked!” Lindbergh happily exclaimed.
“We’re going to be roommates!” I added, a look of excitement on my face.
College was going to be great. Lindbergh and I had been accepted, I was going to get a higher-level of education, and my best friend would be with me through it all. I could hardly wait for the classes to start.
---------
As much fun as falling in love and kissing a girl had sounded at the time, I was too devoted to my studies to pursue such an idea. Besides, based on my past experiences with romance, I wasn’t exactly what people might call a ladies’ man. The accident made my love life even worse… Come to think of it, up until a certain series of events in the 1980s, I never really had much of a love life to begin with...
Anyway, Lindbergh and I were searching for a college for both of us to attend. We roamed from town to town in the car for weeks, looking for a college to accept me (as well as traveling from whatever job to job Lindbergh might have gotten along the way). So far, we hadn’t found any that would accept a… person with my condition. Preferably, they also were looking for an applicant who wasn't officially confirmed dead or missing. As well as someone who's appearance almost immediately didn't make the secretary call security. Or someone without too noticeable of an avian ancestry.
“Lindy,” I remarked to him one day, “with my kind of design, I belong in a technical institute instead of a regular college.”
“I think they could use you on the science force, Michael,” my friend told me, hardly taking his eyes off of the TV he was repairing. “Besides, I think that the space race is really getting big now. Hand me the screwdriver, will ya?”
Indeed, I had heard much about the race to space growing up. Ever since I was younger, I had always dreamed of working as a scientist for NASA, helping figure out more efficient ways to launch our astronauts into space and what experiments would work up there. To tell the truth, I was also fascinated with the unknown, and outer space had definitely captured my imagination, wonder, and interst. But if not that field of interest, I was always open in other studies relating to similar fields.
“Yes, I know that,” I said to Lindbergh, handing him the aforementioned screwdriver and peering over his shoulder as I watched him work. “I wonder if there are any technical institutes nearby...”
Shrugging, he responded, “Who knows? We'll just have to keep looking.” With that, he finished screwing in the last screw for the back of the repaired TV. “And, done! All finished with the repairs, Mister Gold!” he chipperly announced, lifting his head.
“Thank you, boys,” the elderly gentleman said, reaching for his cane as he stood up from his arm chair. “I'll be sure to pay you both for graciously helping me with that blasted thing. I don't understand it myself. It's been running great all this time, and yet one day it refuses to cooperate.”
“You're just lucky we happened to be passing through,” Lindbergh noted with a nod, moving the TV set back into place. “I had another job here in town, so things seemed to work out perfectly, didn't they?”
Mr. Gold nodded. “Indeed. Now, forgive me if I'm prying...” He turned to face the both of us. “But I couldn't help but overhear you two talking about getting into a college? A technical institute, your friend said.”
Lindbergh and I glanced between each other. “Well...” he began.
“It's complicated,” I explained. “I had a university already lined up, but due to certain events, I'm not able to attend.”
There was a bit of a pause hanging in the air before the man nodded again in understanding. “Fortunately for you gentlemen,” he calmly spoke, “I happen to be... acquainted, let's say, with a staff member at such an institution in a town nearby. You two seem to be in dire need of attending a college, from what I've heard, so...” A slight smile pulled on his face. “How's about I write you boys a letter of reccomendation and schedule for you to meet my acquaintence?”
My eyes widened. “Really?” I asked, not being able to believe it. “You would do that for us? Oh, thank you sir!” I joyfully began shaking his hand out of gratitude. “If there's anything we could ever--”
“Ah!” He held his hand up to stop me short. “You already did. So, in return for fixing my TV, I owe you.”
“Wow! Helping us out with a college for fixing a TV! What they can't pay you with these days,” Lindbergh said in awe. “You just tell us if you need anything else to be fixed again, and we'll be happy to help!”
“I'll keep that in mind, erm...” Mr. Gold paused and looked at us, confused as to what our names were.
“Lindbergh Kiwi,” the kiwi filled him in. “And this is--”
“Scott,” I said. “Erm, that's my last name though. My first name... erm...” I was a bit uncomfortable telling him my first name, especially since using my name with the other universities had gotten me a lot of questioning as to if it were a joke or if I had faked a death.
Mr. Gold sighed. “John Scott it is, then,” he concluded. I gave him a sheepish smile. Oh well, it would have to do.
Nodding, I agreed. “Thank you again.”
“Yeah, thanks a lot, Mister!” Lindbergh thanked him, packing up his toolset.
“Don't mention it,” Mr. Gold replied, a smile on his place. “I'll be sure to get you directions to the Jack Haley Technical Institute.”
My friend saluted as he continued to pack up up. I turned to him and gave a shy smile. “Thank you so much,” I thanked him again. “But, if I may ask you a question?”
“Go right ahead.”
“Why are you helping us?”
The elder man let out a light chuckle. “Well Michael, let's just say that I know how to recognize a desperate soul.”
~o~o~
After making all the arrangements, Mr. Gold sent us on our way with what we needed to get us there: food, directions, gas, the letters of reccomendation, and a nod. We never saw or heard from him again.
I held out a map for my friend to look at as he drove. I could hardly believe it. There I was, thinking that I wouldn’t get an education, and the opportunity of my lifetime was in the next town. It was a dream come true.
“Michael, you got your portfolio with you?”
The words of my comrade hardly reached my ears. I was too busy imagining what it would be like to finally work for NASA and to live my dream of being included in scientific history. It was remarkable. It was energizing, it was wonderful. It was--
“Michael! We’re almost there!”
Finally, my mind was brought back to reality with the help of my flightless friend. “Um, thank you for telling me that, Lindbergh,” I thanked him.
“Aw, it’s no trouble, Michael,” he replied. “Just didn’t want you to be so quiet anymore, so…”
“Found it!” I had been rummaging through my things, trying to find my portfolio to present to the college.
Lindbergh parked the car in the parking lot of the institute and helped me out of the car, the letters in his wings. “Well, Michael,” he stated, “this is it.”
All I could do was nod at my friend’s comment. This was it, my big chance--no, what we could do to show them all that we could be accepted into society, get a college-leveled education, and earn a job.
Naturally, I was nervous about everything.
“Lindbergh, what if they don’t accept me?” I asked him, a hint of doubt in my voice. They would accept Lindbergh, no problem. What if they turned me down because I was… different?
The kiwi patted me on the back. “You’ll do fine, Michael,” he said to me in a friendly manner, “I know you will.”
I gave the plumber a small smile in return. “Thank you, Lindbergh,” I replied.
“Anytime, Michael,” he replied. “Now, let’s get you accepted into that college.”
“Right. You too.” With that, both of us walked through the school doors and to the admission department office, never leaving the other‘s side.
There was a woman behind a desk typing on a typewriter. She seemed to be a secretary of sorts, so I knew that this must be the right place.
“Is this the administration office?” I asked the woman.
“Yes it is,” she answered, glancing at me as she spoke.
“Are you holding interviews for students today?” Lindbergh asked. Oh, how I hoped they were…
“Why, yes,” the woman said. “I’ll go tell the interviewer you’re here, Mr. …”
“Oh, we have an appointment,” he continued. “A Mister Gold told us to come here and meet with a...” He glanced at the name on the envelope before showing it to the secretary.
She observed the envelopes before nodding to us. “Mr. Scott, Mr. Kiwi,” she stated before going into another room.
I sat down beside Lindbergh in a chair, letting out a sigh of relief. That part was done.
“You’ll do fine, Michael,” my friend told me in a sing-song voice.
“Says you,” I answered in the same manner.
After a while of waiting, the secretary motioned for me to go inside.
“Wish me luck,” I whispered to my companion before standing up and walking into the interview room with my portfolio.
~o~o~
For confidentiality reasons, I won’t go into great detail about the entire interview. To be honest, I can't really remember a thing. It was all so fuzzy. I think I was nervous, but I tried not to show it too much.
After the interview was over, it was Lindbergh's turn. I waited patiently until he returned and joined me on a bench outside the office, awaiting our results.
“I think that it went pretty well, actually,” I confessed to the kiwi, trying to make small talk.
“You see? There was nothing to worry about, Michael,” my friend said to me.
The conversation continued from there, but the talk was halted when the secretary came out of the office. “Congratulations, Mr. Scott, Mr. Kiwi,” she told us. “You’ve been accepted into the campus.”
I immediately stood up, joy filling my body, and shook her hand. “Oh, thank you, ma’am!” I thanked her. “Thank you so much!”
The woman chuckled a bit. “I’m sure that you and your friend will enjoy it here” were her last words that she spoke to me before she disappeared back into the office.
“The recommendations worked!” Lindbergh happily exclaimed.
“We’re going to be roommates!” I added, a look of excitement on my face.
College was going to be great. Lindbergh and I had been accepted, I was going to get a higher-level of education, and my best friend would be with me through it all. I could hardly wait for the classes to start.
AnimatedC9000
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((A/N: It's time to play the music; it's time to light the lights; it's time to stare at this chapter and wonder where all sense of flow in this story has gone, thanks to edits and adding a bit of new material in, because the author herself isn't really quite sure where it went. ... on A Robotic Heart tonight!))
---------
After we were admitted into the university, the college allowed us to move into a dorm in advanced. This, of course, meant that we finally had a steady home in a place where one could get an education. However, that accomodation didn't cover the holiday seasons. We would pretty much be on our own at that point. Our belongings combined wasn’t enough to fill the dorm room, so naturally we had to go to town a lot to buy the essentials needed to make the dorm look more acceptable for living.
It was about one week until classes officially started and Lindbergh and I were in town running a few errands. One of our stops was the supermarket to pick up groceries.
“Okay, cereal?”
“Check.” A few boxes of Frosted Flakes and Cheerio’s went into the shopping cart that Lindbergh was pushing.
“Bread.”
“Check.” A loaf of bread came to rest inside the cart
“Tomatoes and lettuce?”
“Double check.” The produce items were placed into the basket.
“Water bottles.”
I did a double take at my friend. “Are you sure I can handle water, Lindbergh?” I asked him. “You and I both know that I’ll short-circuit if too much water gets into my system.”
“I know. I was just testing you, Michael,” the kiwi told me as we made our way to the different aisles. He paused. “I mean, John. Sheesh, it's gonna be hard calling you that from now on.”
Out of my new alias as John Scott arose new problems. I myself was trying to distance myself far away from the accident and anything possibly leaking out that the same college-bound student who had the name supposedly died the same day “I” was found unconscious. Poor Lindbergh was trying his hardest, but the name change was something he had never gotten the hang of. He told me that the name John didn't suit me. In fact, according to him, I didn't even look like a Michael. (“No offense,” he had apologized.)
“One thing's for sure, I’ll have enough testing to do when classes start,” I remarked, a slight chuckle in my voice.
“You and me both, but you know what they say,” my friend told me as he was putting a jar of pickles into the cart, “the mind never sleeps.”
“Indeed,” I replied in agreement. “Mine also picks up radio and television signals that keep me up sometimes at nights.”
“Wow, the hospital must’ve went a little overboard,” Lindbergh commented, heading towards the checkout line.
I nodded, trying to think of what the hospital must’ve used to reconstruct my brain. TV cables, antennae… maybe it was something to do with my hair?
As I was pondering all of this, I noticed a flyer on the message board and went to check it out. I grabbed the flyer off the board and read it silently to myself. “Come see the Solid Foam at the Groundling Café. Enjoy the music while you relax. Donations are accepted.”
“Hey, Lindbergh,” I said to my friend while walking over to him, “take a look at this.” I handed him the flyer.
“The Groundling Café, huh?” Lindbergh read in amusement. “Sounds like some sort of coffee shop.” He looked at me. “Maybe we should go there sometime.”
“How about dinner tonight?” I suggested.
“Sounds like a plan,” the kiwi agreed, picking up a few sacks of groceries. “Now come on, let’s load these into the back of the car.”
~o~o~
That night, after everything had been unloaded, the two of us drove into town to the Groundling Café for dinner. I was more curious about the band that was playing there than Lindbergh was, but that didn’t matter between us. Besides, we needed some reason to celebrate the beginning of the school year, anyway.
The waitress seated us at our table and took our orders before departing. I was searching around with my eyes for the band that was supposed to be at the café, but so far, I found no musicians.
"Where are they?" I muttered to myself.
"Where are who, Mic--John?" my friend asked, puzzled and catching himself.
Not expecting my friend to have heard me, I gave him a confused look in return.
"Who are you looking for?" Lindbergh asked again. “Do you know someone here?”
I shrugged. “Not really.” Before I could answer him any further, the waitress came with our refreshments and treats (although I thought I specifically asked Lindbergh not to order me coffee or a mocha or any type of drink). Despite what it might've done to my system if I consumed it, I picked up one of the cups of coffee and decided to make a toast. "Here's to four or more years of successful college classes," I said to my friend.
"Here's to our continuing friendship," the kiwi toasted back.
“To the future,” we both agreed. We clinked our cups (or the closest to clinking two coffee cups together) and started to consume the beverages.
At that very moment, a wail of a saxophone sounded throughout the restaurant and all of the patrons, including Lindbergh and myself, turned their heads towards the small stage.
On that stage, what I assumed to be the members of the Solid Foam band were playing a song. There were four performing musicians when I first saw the band: a lead guitarist, a bass guitarist, a saxophonist, and a drummer.
How can I describe the people that would become my future bandmates by relying on my first impression of them?
To be honest, when I first saw them perform, I thought that they were … a pretty diverse group. I hadn’t seen any other group like them beforehand, and I probably will never know another one like them.
The bearded lead guitarist looked like he was in his early- to mid-20s with a laid-back, country feel to him. The bass guitarist, also in his early- to mid-20s, was a purple catfish-like creature who wore sunglasses. The saxophonist looked young, probably not even out of high school yet (if even that), but he could play like a professional. The drummer, who appeared to be around the same age as the saxophone player, was also the only female member in the group.
The band played their best for the crowd that night. I could see that they were doing excellent in performance, but it seemed as if they were missing something. Perhaps they needed a musician to join the group? Maybe they had a member that was out with an illness. But wait, if that were so, why not just replace them?
Some of the crowd clapped following the end of their performance, and Lindbergh and I were among them.
"Wow, they sure are good," the kiwi said to me.
"Yes," I agreed with him, "I've never seen a group like them before."
"I think that's because this is the first band that you've ever seen up close and personal before, M--John," Lindbergh told me. “I don't blame you. I've never been in one of these coffee shops before, especially one with a band.”
I couldn't help but agree with him. Even before the accident, I hadn't been invited to see a band or musician perform in concert.
"Hey, here's an idea," my friend said with an air of confidence after the band had performed a few songs. "Why don't we go meet them?"
Lindbergh must’ve gotten to known me really well during our short time together, because he just read my mind. “Exactly,” I replied. “Let’s go right now.”
So the two of us went from our table over to the area where the band was taking a break. Out of the two of us, I was the most intrigued about meeting the band. I excitedly sauntered towards their table…
… and tripped over a cord that I hadn't noticed before I could reach the group.
“Hey man, you okay?” a voice of one of the members asked me, most possibly belonging to the guitarist.
“I… think so,” I wearily replied, standing up with Lindbergh’s help.
“Good, because it looks like you might need a little bit more help the way you’re going,” the purple bass player said to me.
“As if I don’t have that much troubles already,” I told him.
The young saxophonist mumbled out a sentence.
“What did he say?” I asked the band.
The bassist spoke up again. “He said that you gave him a little scare when you fell, Robot Man.”
They had already noticed my most prominent feature, but they were talking to me like I was a normal person. That was a good sign.
“Hey, you got a name?” the man with the beard asked.
I realized that I had not introduced myself yet. “Oh, excuse me for not mentioning it in the first place,” I apologized. “My name is Michael--I mean, John!” Darn it, now I was messing up. “John Scott, that is my name, and this is my friend Lindbergh.”
“Hello!” the kiwi greeted.
“We watched you guys perform,” I explained. “You all sound pretty good.”
“Thanks,” the female drummer spoke up.
“Always great to meet a new fan,” the lead guitarist stated. “Friends call me Beard,” he said, extending a hand.
“Pleasure to meet you, Beard,” I said in return, shaking his hand.
“I’m Clifford, the group’s residential bass player and all-around cool person,” the purple man introduced himself. “Nice to meet ya, MJ.”
“Nice to meet you too,” I replied with a confused smile. “MJ?” I mouthed to him.
He shrugged. “For Michael-John. That’s Flash,” Clifford said, motioning over to the young (not-even-really-in) high school student. “He plays the sax.”
The saxophonist, now known as Flash (a nickname, I would later learn; I'm still not entirely sure of his real first name), nodded in agreement. “Yeah,” he started out saying before he mumbled a sentence again.
“He’s been playing since he was a kid,” the bassist explained. “Not even in high school yet, and he's got the chops to play just about anything.”
“Oh,” I answered, nodding in agreement. “He’s pretty talented.”
Flash mumbled a “thank you” to me.
“And last but not least, there’s Francine,” Clifford concluded, waving a hand towards the drummer.
“I could’ve introduced myself on my own, Clifford,” the girl stated with a chuckle, leaning forward a bit in her chair.
“Yeah,” the bass player went on, “she's cool. Anyway, Franny’s our drummer, and Flash’s girlfriend.”
“Not my girlfriend!/Don't call me Franny!” the two high school students exclaimed at the same time.
Both Beard and Clifford got a good chuckle out of that. “Nah, they’re just really close,” Beard told me.
“Oh, okay,” I said, nodding my head.
"Hey, do you guys live around here?" Lindbergh asked the band.
"Flash and I go to school in the next town over," Francine answered, "and Beard and Clifford live in some apartment complex in the city."
"Yeah," Clifford agreed. "It's not much, but it's home."
"What about you?" Beard asked my friend and I.
"Oh, we're going to high scho-- college, I mean," I corrected myself, "at the Jack Haley Technical Institute."
"Uh huh," the kiwi said. "We live in the dorm building."
"A college man," the bass player said with a nod. "Good luck with classes next week, man."
"Thank you for the support," I thanked the band.
"No trouble at all," Beard replied, writing something down on a piece of paper.
"You'll need all the help you can get," the drummer added. “At least that's what's Flash's brothers have said. We really don't know what it's like yet.”
"Hey man," Clifford spoke up, "if you're ever in a jam, like if you got no place to go for the holidays, just give us a call."
Beard gave me the piece of paper that he wrote on. "Here's the address, telephone numbers, and apartment numbers that Cliff and I live at," he said. "You can come over at any time."
My eyes widened. "Really?" I asked, bewildered by the offer. "Why, that's very nice of you both."
“Now we have a place to go when the dorms close for the holidays!” Lindbergh added excitedly.
"It's cool," Clifford answered. “We're always hip to help a fella out.”
“Tell that to our bills,” Beard nearly deadpanned before laughing.
That reminded Lindbergh of his idea of opening a side business to help pay our way through college. While he was questioning Beard and Clifford about that, I felt a nudge on my shoulder. Turning, I saw the saxophonist.
“Hey,” he greeted.
“Greetings,” I said with a smile. At least being friendly with the two... closest to what my age was then was an option?
The dark-haired girl sitting next to Flash nodded a greeting. “So... you're a robot,” she said.
“No, only partially, but I'm still getting used to it,” I explained to them. “It hasn't been all easy so far...”
Flash and Francine looked at each other, then at me, then at each other, and then back to me again. “What'd you say your name was?” Flash asked. “Scott?”
“No, it was Michael,” Francine said.
“Johnny?” another voice spoke up, poking me in the shoulder.
“Lindbergh?”
“I thought that was his name,” the guitarist said, correcting me.
Clifford didn't say a word, only looking at us from over his shades before shaking his head. “Anyhoo, you two hip dudes ever get in a jam, Beard an' I'll help bail you out. You're all right in my book.”
The band members spoke and nodded in agreement.
"They like you, John," my friend whispered to me. For once, he had gotten it right. Still, it didn't feel right.
But what he had said was true. Even though I was different than most people, here was a group who accepted me for who I was. I knew that the people in the group would be my friends, just like Lindbergh had been.
"Well... thank you very much," I stated, nearly speechless.
“You know, you don’t look much of a... John Michael whatever,” Beard commented. “Sounds sort of like an analogue name.”
A few chuckles arose from the others as I stared at them quizically. Analogue? Were they comparing me to a TV set? I might be able to be repaired like one at times, but I knew that I definitely wasn't a TV set.
“Man’s got a point, though,” Clifford spoke up. “You’re more of a digital guy rather than an analogue.”
“Digital,” I repeated. “Right...”
“Digital...” That voice came from Lindbergh, who appeared as if he was also pondering something. “Has a nice ring to it. Digit-Al.”
Opening my motuh at first, I paused, trying to replay it in my head a few times. Digital. Digit-al. Digit Al. Digit--
“Forget the Al! Maybe we should call you Digit from now on,” Beard said with a laugh.
“Digit,” I repeated, thinking about the name. A smile crept up onto my face. “I like the sound of that,” I told the band and Lindbergh.
"I like it, too," Lindbergh agreed.
“All right, then,” Clifford concluded. “From now on, we’ll call you Digit.”
Before that conversation had even ended, I received a new name (one that I would use full-heartedly now) and a wonderful group of new friends. I could tell already that my life was going to go great from then on.
---------
After we were admitted into the university, the college allowed us to move into a dorm in advanced. This, of course, meant that we finally had a steady home in a place where one could get an education. However, that accomodation didn't cover the holiday seasons. We would pretty much be on our own at that point. Our belongings combined wasn’t enough to fill the dorm room, so naturally we had to go to town a lot to buy the essentials needed to make the dorm look more acceptable for living.
It was about one week until classes officially started and Lindbergh and I were in town running a few errands. One of our stops was the supermarket to pick up groceries.
“Okay, cereal?”
“Check.” A few boxes of Frosted Flakes and Cheerio’s went into the shopping cart that Lindbergh was pushing.
“Bread.”
“Check.” A loaf of bread came to rest inside the cart
“Tomatoes and lettuce?”
“Double check.” The produce items were placed into the basket.
“Water bottles.”
I did a double take at my friend. “Are you sure I can handle water, Lindbergh?” I asked him. “You and I both know that I’ll short-circuit if too much water gets into my system.”
“I know. I was just testing you, Michael,” the kiwi told me as we made our way to the different aisles. He paused. “I mean, John. Sheesh, it's gonna be hard calling you that from now on.”
Out of my new alias as John Scott arose new problems. I myself was trying to distance myself far away from the accident and anything possibly leaking out that the same college-bound student who had the name supposedly died the same day “I” was found unconscious. Poor Lindbergh was trying his hardest, but the name change was something he had never gotten the hang of. He told me that the name John didn't suit me. In fact, according to him, I didn't even look like a Michael. (“No offense,” he had apologized.)
“One thing's for sure, I’ll have enough testing to do when classes start,” I remarked, a slight chuckle in my voice.
“You and me both, but you know what they say,” my friend told me as he was putting a jar of pickles into the cart, “the mind never sleeps.”
“Indeed,” I replied in agreement. “Mine also picks up radio and television signals that keep me up sometimes at nights.”
“Wow, the hospital must’ve went a little overboard,” Lindbergh commented, heading towards the checkout line.
I nodded, trying to think of what the hospital must’ve used to reconstruct my brain. TV cables, antennae… maybe it was something to do with my hair?
As I was pondering all of this, I noticed a flyer on the message board and went to check it out. I grabbed the flyer off the board and read it silently to myself. “Come see the Solid Foam at the Groundling Café. Enjoy the music while you relax. Donations are accepted.”
“Hey, Lindbergh,” I said to my friend while walking over to him, “take a look at this.” I handed him the flyer.
“The Groundling Café, huh?” Lindbergh read in amusement. “Sounds like some sort of coffee shop.” He looked at me. “Maybe we should go there sometime.”
“How about dinner tonight?” I suggested.
“Sounds like a plan,” the kiwi agreed, picking up a few sacks of groceries. “Now come on, let’s load these into the back of the car.”
~o~o~
That night, after everything had been unloaded, the two of us drove into town to the Groundling Café for dinner. I was more curious about the band that was playing there than Lindbergh was, but that didn’t matter between us. Besides, we needed some reason to celebrate the beginning of the school year, anyway.
The waitress seated us at our table and took our orders before departing. I was searching around with my eyes for the band that was supposed to be at the café, but so far, I found no musicians.
"Where are they?" I muttered to myself.
"Where are who, Mic--John?" my friend asked, puzzled and catching himself.
Not expecting my friend to have heard me, I gave him a confused look in return.
"Who are you looking for?" Lindbergh asked again. “Do you know someone here?”
I shrugged. “Not really.” Before I could answer him any further, the waitress came with our refreshments and treats (although I thought I specifically asked Lindbergh not to order me coffee or a mocha or any type of drink). Despite what it might've done to my system if I consumed it, I picked up one of the cups of coffee and decided to make a toast. "Here's to four or more years of successful college classes," I said to my friend.
"Here's to our continuing friendship," the kiwi toasted back.
“To the future,” we both agreed. We clinked our cups (or the closest to clinking two coffee cups together) and started to consume the beverages.
At that very moment, a wail of a saxophone sounded throughout the restaurant and all of the patrons, including Lindbergh and myself, turned their heads towards the small stage.
On that stage, what I assumed to be the members of the Solid Foam band were playing a song. There were four performing musicians when I first saw the band: a lead guitarist, a bass guitarist, a saxophonist, and a drummer.
How can I describe the people that would become my future bandmates by relying on my first impression of them?
To be honest, when I first saw them perform, I thought that they were … a pretty diverse group. I hadn’t seen any other group like them beforehand, and I probably will never know another one like them.
The bearded lead guitarist looked like he was in his early- to mid-20s with a laid-back, country feel to him. The bass guitarist, also in his early- to mid-20s, was a purple catfish-like creature who wore sunglasses. The saxophonist looked young, probably not even out of high school yet (if even that), but he could play like a professional. The drummer, who appeared to be around the same age as the saxophone player, was also the only female member in the group.
The band played their best for the crowd that night. I could see that they were doing excellent in performance, but it seemed as if they were missing something. Perhaps they needed a musician to join the group? Maybe they had a member that was out with an illness. But wait, if that were so, why not just replace them?
Some of the crowd clapped following the end of their performance, and Lindbergh and I were among them.
"Wow, they sure are good," the kiwi said to me.
"Yes," I agreed with him, "I've never seen a group like them before."
"I think that's because this is the first band that you've ever seen up close and personal before, M--John," Lindbergh told me. “I don't blame you. I've never been in one of these coffee shops before, especially one with a band.”
I couldn't help but agree with him. Even before the accident, I hadn't been invited to see a band or musician perform in concert.
"Hey, here's an idea," my friend said with an air of confidence after the band had performed a few songs. "Why don't we go meet them?"
Lindbergh must’ve gotten to known me really well during our short time together, because he just read my mind. “Exactly,” I replied. “Let’s go right now.”
So the two of us went from our table over to the area where the band was taking a break. Out of the two of us, I was the most intrigued about meeting the band. I excitedly sauntered towards their table…
… and tripped over a cord that I hadn't noticed before I could reach the group.
“Hey man, you okay?” a voice of one of the members asked me, most possibly belonging to the guitarist.
“I… think so,” I wearily replied, standing up with Lindbergh’s help.
“Good, because it looks like you might need a little bit more help the way you’re going,” the purple bass player said to me.
“As if I don’t have that much troubles already,” I told him.
The young saxophonist mumbled out a sentence.
“What did he say?” I asked the band.
The bassist spoke up again. “He said that you gave him a little scare when you fell, Robot Man.”
They had already noticed my most prominent feature, but they were talking to me like I was a normal person. That was a good sign.
“Hey, you got a name?” the man with the beard asked.
I realized that I had not introduced myself yet. “Oh, excuse me for not mentioning it in the first place,” I apologized. “My name is Michael--I mean, John!” Darn it, now I was messing up. “John Scott, that is my name, and this is my friend Lindbergh.”
“Hello!” the kiwi greeted.
“We watched you guys perform,” I explained. “You all sound pretty good.”
“Thanks,” the female drummer spoke up.
“Always great to meet a new fan,” the lead guitarist stated. “Friends call me Beard,” he said, extending a hand.
“Pleasure to meet you, Beard,” I said in return, shaking his hand.
“I’m Clifford, the group’s residential bass player and all-around cool person,” the purple man introduced himself. “Nice to meet ya, MJ.”
“Nice to meet you too,” I replied with a confused smile. “MJ?” I mouthed to him.
He shrugged. “For Michael-John. That’s Flash,” Clifford said, motioning over to the young (not-even-really-in) high school student. “He plays the sax.”
The saxophonist, now known as Flash (a nickname, I would later learn; I'm still not entirely sure of his real first name), nodded in agreement. “Yeah,” he started out saying before he mumbled a sentence again.
“He’s been playing since he was a kid,” the bassist explained. “Not even in high school yet, and he's got the chops to play just about anything.”
“Oh,” I answered, nodding in agreement. “He’s pretty talented.”
Flash mumbled a “thank you” to me.
“And last but not least, there’s Francine,” Clifford concluded, waving a hand towards the drummer.
“I could’ve introduced myself on my own, Clifford,” the girl stated with a chuckle, leaning forward a bit in her chair.
“Yeah,” the bass player went on, “she's cool. Anyway, Franny’s our drummer, and Flash’s girlfriend.”
“Not my girlfriend!/Don't call me Franny!” the two high school students exclaimed at the same time.
Both Beard and Clifford got a good chuckle out of that. “Nah, they’re just really close,” Beard told me.
“Oh, okay,” I said, nodding my head.
"Hey, do you guys live around here?" Lindbergh asked the band.
"Flash and I go to school in the next town over," Francine answered, "and Beard and Clifford live in some apartment complex in the city."
"Yeah," Clifford agreed. "It's not much, but it's home."
"What about you?" Beard asked my friend and I.
"Oh, we're going to high scho-- college, I mean," I corrected myself, "at the Jack Haley Technical Institute."
"Uh huh," the kiwi said. "We live in the dorm building."
"A college man," the bass player said with a nod. "Good luck with classes next week, man."
"Thank you for the support," I thanked the band.
"No trouble at all," Beard replied, writing something down on a piece of paper.
"You'll need all the help you can get," the drummer added. “At least that's what's Flash's brothers have said. We really don't know what it's like yet.”
"Hey man," Clifford spoke up, "if you're ever in a jam, like if you got no place to go for the holidays, just give us a call."
Beard gave me the piece of paper that he wrote on. "Here's the address, telephone numbers, and apartment numbers that Cliff and I live at," he said. "You can come over at any time."
My eyes widened. "Really?" I asked, bewildered by the offer. "Why, that's very nice of you both."
“Now we have a place to go when the dorms close for the holidays!” Lindbergh added excitedly.
"It's cool," Clifford answered. “We're always hip to help a fella out.”
“Tell that to our bills,” Beard nearly deadpanned before laughing.
That reminded Lindbergh of his idea of opening a side business to help pay our way through college. While he was questioning Beard and Clifford about that, I felt a nudge on my shoulder. Turning, I saw the saxophonist.
“Hey,” he greeted.
“Greetings,” I said with a smile. At least being friendly with the two... closest to what my age was then was an option?
The dark-haired girl sitting next to Flash nodded a greeting. “So... you're a robot,” she said.
“No, only partially, but I'm still getting used to it,” I explained to them. “It hasn't been all easy so far...”
Flash and Francine looked at each other, then at me, then at each other, and then back to me again. “What'd you say your name was?” Flash asked. “Scott?”
“No, it was Michael,” Francine said.
“Johnny?” another voice spoke up, poking me in the shoulder.
“Lindbergh?”
“I thought that was his name,” the guitarist said, correcting me.
Clifford didn't say a word, only looking at us from over his shades before shaking his head. “Anyhoo, you two hip dudes ever get in a jam, Beard an' I'll help bail you out. You're all right in my book.”
The band members spoke and nodded in agreement.
"They like you, John," my friend whispered to me. For once, he had gotten it right. Still, it didn't feel right.
But what he had said was true. Even though I was different than most people, here was a group who accepted me for who I was. I knew that the people in the group would be my friends, just like Lindbergh had been.
"Well... thank you very much," I stated, nearly speechless.
“You know, you don’t look much of a... John Michael whatever,” Beard commented. “Sounds sort of like an analogue name.”
A few chuckles arose from the others as I stared at them quizically. Analogue? Were they comparing me to a TV set? I might be able to be repaired like one at times, but I knew that I definitely wasn't a TV set.
“Man’s got a point, though,” Clifford spoke up. “You’re more of a digital guy rather than an analogue.”
“Digital,” I repeated. “Right...”
“Digital...” That voice came from Lindbergh, who appeared as if he was also pondering something. “Has a nice ring to it. Digit-Al.”
Opening my motuh at first, I paused, trying to replay it in my head a few times. Digital. Digit-al. Digit Al. Digit--
“Forget the Al! Maybe we should call you Digit from now on,” Beard said with a laugh.
“Digit,” I repeated, thinking about the name. A smile crept up onto my face. “I like the sound of that,” I told the band and Lindbergh.
"I like it, too," Lindbergh agreed.
“All right, then,” Clifford concluded. “From now on, we’ll call you Digit.”
Before that conversation had even ended, I received a new name (one that I would use full-heartedly now) and a wonderful group of new friends. I could tell already that my life was going to go great from then on.
AnimatedC9000
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((A/N: Happy 24th anniversary to the first airing of The Jim Henson Hour! What, you guys thought I'd forget all about it? Perish the thought! I can't just let an event like that go by unnoticed. To celebrate, have Chapter 10 of this story!))
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My new name proved to be more fitting than I thought it would. Not only was I a "digital" man (according to the Solid Foam members), but my progress in my classes showed me that I was a technological wizard in my own right. I continued to amaze my teachers, friends, and even myself by the way I could easily complete assignments.
"Gee, Digit," Lindbergh commented one day after classes had been going on for four weeks, "at this rate, you'll be working for NASA for sure!"
"You really think so?" I asked him while I was studying for a test that was coming up the next day.
"Sure, at the rate you're going," my friend encouraged me. "I hope you do well on that test tomorrow."
"Thank you, Lindbergh," I said, giving the kiwi a friendly smile. "I'll do my best. And I hope you do well on yours."
"And that's the best people can do," the plumber completed. "Why, you can even do more than your best if you try hard enough."
“Agreed wholeheartedly on that.” With a nod, we went back to studying for our respective tests.
The next day, I caught up with Lindbergh at lunch after the testing was over to have a conversation with him.
“Have you ever really considered driving?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I'd like to learn how to drive again. You know, since you have varying schedules with your for-hire repait duties, I'd like to learn how to drive myself around. Besides, this town's a bit bigger than the one I lived in, Lindbergh.”
The kiwi munched on his sandwich before he swallowed. “Gee, never really thought about that,” he commented. “We can try to get you to the driver's registration place sometime. It'll have to be when we're not in classes, though.”
I nodded. “Because we are here to learn first and foremost.”
“And involvement never hurt anyone, either,” Lindbergh agreed.
About a half a week later, Lindbergh fell through the front doorway to our room late at night, coming home from a late night on the job. I turned on a lamp as he rolled himself on his back. “How'd you beat me here?” he asked, obviously a bit delirious.
“Lindbergh, this is our room.”
“I thought the ceiling looked familiar.”
College life continued as normal from that point on until about a week or so after that incident. Sometimes we met with the other Solid Foam members for dinner or catching up on things that happened, but for the most part it was just Lindbergh and me. I decided to strike up another conversation with Lindbergh during lunch one day.
“Lindbergh, do you remember when we met Solid Foam?” I asked him.
“You mean Beard, Clifford, Flash and Francine?” my kiwi friend replied.
“Yes, that’s it.”
“Sure I do.” Lindbergh paused to take a bite out of his sandwich. “Why do you bring that time up?” he questioned after he swallowed.
“Well…” I didn’t know whether or not he’d believe me about what I was going to say, but he was my friend and I trusted him. “I’ve been thinking…”
“About what?”
“Back to the first time we met the band,” I continued, “I couldn’t help but notice that they were missing something.”
The plumber stared at me, a puzzled look on his face. “What do you mean, Digit?”
“I don’t know,” I confessed. “It’s like they needed an extra member to join them for their careers to really take off.”
“Really?” Lindbergh spoke up in a semi-confused, semi-knowing voice.
I nodded in response. “In fact, Lindbergh…” I took a moment to prepare for what I was going to say next. “Last night, I had a dream that I joined the band.”
My friend’s eyes widened in mid-bite. “You did?” he asked in awe.
“Yes,” I answered him. “In fact, I think it might even be a sign.”
“How?” the kiwi quizzically responded.
“You know how you keep saying to me that I needed involvement with a group of people?” I told him. “I think this might be my chance to show them that I can belong in a group.”
“That’s really neat and all, Digit,” Lindbergh commented. “Actually, when I said that, I was meaning that you should join a club or something. Besides, I didn’t know whether or not you played and instrument.”
“I--” I stopped mid-sentence, realizing an important obstacle that seemed to prevent me from joining Solid Foam.
I could hardly play an instrument.
~o~o~
The next afternoon, after our classes were over, Lindbergh and I drove into town until we found a music store. I was determined to find an instrument that I could know how to play and that would be of use to the band.
“What sort of instrument did you have in mind, Digit?” my friend asked me once we started to look around the shop.
“I’m not so sure,” I told him, “but I’ll probably know it when I see it.” We then went our separate ways to search for an instrument.
I first made my way over to the brass instrument section. There were trumpets, tubas, and other brass instruments galore, but none of them felt right for me. Besides, whoever heard of a trumpet player in a rock band?
I stayed clear of the stringed instruments. Beard and Clifford were already covering the lead guitar and the bass, so they probably didn’t need any more of those type of musicians.
I also discouraged myself from venturing to the percussion section. The only percussion instruments I could think of were the drums, and Francine was already the drummer of the band.
“May I help you?” the owner of the shop asked me.
“Why yes,” I answered him. “You see, I’m looking for an instrument.”
“Well then, you’ve come to the right place,” he said to me. “Welcome to Radice’s Music Shop! I’m the owner, Mark Radice.”
He seemed like a friendly fellow that knew what he was talking about. I was sure that he could help me. “Thank you for the welcome, Mr. Radice.”
“Please,” he said, “call me Mark. Now, what seems to be your problem?”
“Well, Mark,” I told him, “I want to join a band, but I’m not quite sure which instrument I should play.”
“We just need to narrow it down by what type of band you’ll be joining,” Mark explained. “Jazz, swing, rhythm and blues…”
“A rock band, actually,” I told him. “I’m planning on joining a group called Solid Foam.”
“Solid Foam, you say?” the owner of the store repeated, his eyebrows lifting.
“Well yes,” I answered, surprised that he had heard of them. “Do you know them?”
“Know them?” The man chuckled. “They’re some of my best customers. Why, just last week, I sold Flash some reeds for his sax. Plus, Clifford and I go way back. They also told me about their new friend. Robotic man, pretty nice.” He looked me over. “You’re Digit, right?”
They even told him about me. “Why, yes I am.”
“I thought so,” Mark told me. “Come here, I think I know a good instrument for you.” He led me to an area with all kinds of pianos.
While I looked around, I became confused as to why the store owner brought me over to the piano section. Even as a child, I wasn’t exactly gifted with the ways of the keys. The few piano lessons that I had in sixth grade proved it.
Mark brought out two keyboards and set them up for me to play. “Try playing these,” he said to me.
I stood between the set of instruments, staring at them. I knew I couldn’t play them, especially after the accident. “Sir, I don’t know if I--”
“You’re a technological wizard, right?” he asked me. “That’s what I’ve heard about you. Just try to play them this one time and see if it works for you.”
Taking a deep breath, I placed my hands over the keys of one of the keyboards. I was trying to convince myself to play them. Come on, Digit, you can do this, I thought to myself. Just think of it as… typing on a control panel.
“Let’s hope this works,” I mumbled to myself before I closed my eyes and started to play the instrument.
I couldn’t believe what happened next. There I was, playing the keyboards to the tune of a famous song by Elton John. Suddenly, it seemed as if all the band joined in: Beard on guitar, Clifford on bass, Francine on drums, and Flash singing the lead vocals. We were all playing in front of an audience of fans who screamed wildly as our leading man sang.
I was playing my heart out on the keyboards throughout the whole number. I could feel my fingers flying with such dexterity that they seemed to take on a life of their own. My efforts were rewarded when the crowd reacted to the ending of the song with thunderous applause. Right then I knew that this was my ticket into joining the band.
“Wow, that’s great, Digit!”
The voice of my friend made me open my eyes and come back to reality. I saw Mark and Lindbergh, applauding for me.
“That was a really neat song,” the kiwi commented. “‘Crocodile Rock’, right?”
I nodded in response. “Yes.”
“You’re a very good musician, Digit,” Mark encouraged me. “The band will definitely accept you as a new member, I’m sure of it.”
~o~o~
After we paid for one of the keyboards, the two of us (Lindbergh and I) drove over to the apartment complex where Beard and Clifford lived. We lugged the instrument upstairs (not an easy task) and set it up once we were inside.
My audition for them went well and I was immediately placed into the band as the keyboard player. Everyone was excited about me joining, especially Lindbergh. He became our manager of sorts, picking out locations in nearby cities to play at and what time and date the performances were.
I’ll never forget one of the first gigs that the band had with me as their newest member. It was a Saturday night, and the club was packed. All of us were playing our hearts out (or, in Flash’s case, singing our hearts out) to a particular song called “Crocodile Rock.” The performance was received with a great amount of applause.
That applause seemed to only encourage me more to stay with the band and to be a musician. After that day, all of our performances seemed like wonders to me.
The best part about it all was this: I finally found a group that I belonged in. A group that’s so strong, we still keep in touch to this very day. And to think it all started with a single trip of a wire…
--------
My new name proved to be more fitting than I thought it would. Not only was I a "digital" man (according to the Solid Foam members), but my progress in my classes showed me that I was a technological wizard in my own right. I continued to amaze my teachers, friends, and even myself by the way I could easily complete assignments.
"Gee, Digit," Lindbergh commented one day after classes had been going on for four weeks, "at this rate, you'll be working for NASA for sure!"
"You really think so?" I asked him while I was studying for a test that was coming up the next day.
"Sure, at the rate you're going," my friend encouraged me. "I hope you do well on that test tomorrow."
"Thank you, Lindbergh," I said, giving the kiwi a friendly smile. "I'll do my best. And I hope you do well on yours."
"And that's the best people can do," the plumber completed. "Why, you can even do more than your best if you try hard enough."
“Agreed wholeheartedly on that.” With a nod, we went back to studying for our respective tests.
The next day, I caught up with Lindbergh at lunch after the testing was over to have a conversation with him.
“Have you ever really considered driving?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I'd like to learn how to drive again. You know, since you have varying schedules with your for-hire repait duties, I'd like to learn how to drive myself around. Besides, this town's a bit bigger than the one I lived in, Lindbergh.”
The kiwi munched on his sandwich before he swallowed. “Gee, never really thought about that,” he commented. “We can try to get you to the driver's registration place sometime. It'll have to be when we're not in classes, though.”
I nodded. “Because we are here to learn first and foremost.”
“And involvement never hurt anyone, either,” Lindbergh agreed.
About a half a week later, Lindbergh fell through the front doorway to our room late at night, coming home from a late night on the job. I turned on a lamp as he rolled himself on his back. “How'd you beat me here?” he asked, obviously a bit delirious.
“Lindbergh, this is our room.”
“I thought the ceiling looked familiar.”
College life continued as normal from that point on until about a week or so after that incident. Sometimes we met with the other Solid Foam members for dinner or catching up on things that happened, but for the most part it was just Lindbergh and me. I decided to strike up another conversation with Lindbergh during lunch one day.
“Lindbergh, do you remember when we met Solid Foam?” I asked him.
“You mean Beard, Clifford, Flash and Francine?” my kiwi friend replied.
“Yes, that’s it.”
“Sure I do.” Lindbergh paused to take a bite out of his sandwich. “Why do you bring that time up?” he questioned after he swallowed.
“Well…” I didn’t know whether or not he’d believe me about what I was going to say, but he was my friend and I trusted him. “I’ve been thinking…”
“About what?”
“Back to the first time we met the band,” I continued, “I couldn’t help but notice that they were missing something.”
The plumber stared at me, a puzzled look on his face. “What do you mean, Digit?”
“I don’t know,” I confessed. “It’s like they needed an extra member to join them for their careers to really take off.”
“Really?” Lindbergh spoke up in a semi-confused, semi-knowing voice.
I nodded in response. “In fact, Lindbergh…” I took a moment to prepare for what I was going to say next. “Last night, I had a dream that I joined the band.”
My friend’s eyes widened in mid-bite. “You did?” he asked in awe.
“Yes,” I answered him. “In fact, I think it might even be a sign.”
“How?” the kiwi quizzically responded.
“You know how you keep saying to me that I needed involvement with a group of people?” I told him. “I think this might be my chance to show them that I can belong in a group.”
“That’s really neat and all, Digit,” Lindbergh commented. “Actually, when I said that, I was meaning that you should join a club or something. Besides, I didn’t know whether or not you played and instrument.”
“I--” I stopped mid-sentence, realizing an important obstacle that seemed to prevent me from joining Solid Foam.
I could hardly play an instrument.
~o~o~
The next afternoon, after our classes were over, Lindbergh and I drove into town until we found a music store. I was determined to find an instrument that I could know how to play and that would be of use to the band.
“What sort of instrument did you have in mind, Digit?” my friend asked me once we started to look around the shop.
“I’m not so sure,” I told him, “but I’ll probably know it when I see it.” We then went our separate ways to search for an instrument.
I first made my way over to the brass instrument section. There were trumpets, tubas, and other brass instruments galore, but none of them felt right for me. Besides, whoever heard of a trumpet player in a rock band?
I stayed clear of the stringed instruments. Beard and Clifford were already covering the lead guitar and the bass, so they probably didn’t need any more of those type of musicians.
I also discouraged myself from venturing to the percussion section. The only percussion instruments I could think of were the drums, and Francine was already the drummer of the band.
“May I help you?” the owner of the shop asked me.
“Why yes,” I answered him. “You see, I’m looking for an instrument.”
“Well then, you’ve come to the right place,” he said to me. “Welcome to Radice’s Music Shop! I’m the owner, Mark Radice.”
He seemed like a friendly fellow that knew what he was talking about. I was sure that he could help me. “Thank you for the welcome, Mr. Radice.”
“Please,” he said, “call me Mark. Now, what seems to be your problem?”
“Well, Mark,” I told him, “I want to join a band, but I’m not quite sure which instrument I should play.”
“We just need to narrow it down by what type of band you’ll be joining,” Mark explained. “Jazz, swing, rhythm and blues…”
“A rock band, actually,” I told him. “I’m planning on joining a group called Solid Foam.”
“Solid Foam, you say?” the owner of the store repeated, his eyebrows lifting.
“Well yes,” I answered, surprised that he had heard of them. “Do you know them?”
“Know them?” The man chuckled. “They’re some of my best customers. Why, just last week, I sold Flash some reeds for his sax. Plus, Clifford and I go way back. They also told me about their new friend. Robotic man, pretty nice.” He looked me over. “You’re Digit, right?”
They even told him about me. “Why, yes I am.”
“I thought so,” Mark told me. “Come here, I think I know a good instrument for you.” He led me to an area with all kinds of pianos.
While I looked around, I became confused as to why the store owner brought me over to the piano section. Even as a child, I wasn’t exactly gifted with the ways of the keys. The few piano lessons that I had in sixth grade proved it.
Mark brought out two keyboards and set them up for me to play. “Try playing these,” he said to me.
I stood between the set of instruments, staring at them. I knew I couldn’t play them, especially after the accident. “Sir, I don’t know if I--”
“You’re a technological wizard, right?” he asked me. “That’s what I’ve heard about you. Just try to play them this one time and see if it works for you.”
Taking a deep breath, I placed my hands over the keys of one of the keyboards. I was trying to convince myself to play them. Come on, Digit, you can do this, I thought to myself. Just think of it as… typing on a control panel.
“Let’s hope this works,” I mumbled to myself before I closed my eyes and started to play the instrument.
I couldn’t believe what happened next. There I was, playing the keyboards to the tune of a famous song by Elton John. Suddenly, it seemed as if all the band joined in: Beard on guitar, Clifford on bass, Francine on drums, and Flash singing the lead vocals. We were all playing in front of an audience of fans who screamed wildly as our leading man sang.
I was playing my heart out on the keyboards throughout the whole number. I could feel my fingers flying with such dexterity that they seemed to take on a life of their own. My efforts were rewarded when the crowd reacted to the ending of the song with thunderous applause. Right then I knew that this was my ticket into joining the band.
“Wow, that’s great, Digit!”
The voice of my friend made me open my eyes and come back to reality. I saw Mark and Lindbergh, applauding for me.
“That was a really neat song,” the kiwi commented. “‘Crocodile Rock’, right?”
I nodded in response. “Yes.”
“You’re a very good musician, Digit,” Mark encouraged me. “The band will definitely accept you as a new member, I’m sure of it.”
~o~o~
After we paid for one of the keyboards, the two of us (Lindbergh and I) drove over to the apartment complex where Beard and Clifford lived. We lugged the instrument upstairs (not an easy task) and set it up once we were inside.
My audition for them went well and I was immediately placed into the band as the keyboard player. Everyone was excited about me joining, especially Lindbergh. He became our manager of sorts, picking out locations in nearby cities to play at and what time and date the performances were.
I’ll never forget one of the first gigs that the band had with me as their newest member. It was a Saturday night, and the club was packed. All of us were playing our hearts out (or, in Flash’s case, singing our hearts out) to a particular song called “Crocodile Rock.” The performance was received with a great amount of applause.
That applause seemed to only encourage me more to stay with the band and to be a musician. After that day, all of our performances seemed like wonders to me.
The best part about it all was this: I finally found a group that I belonged in. A group that’s so strong, we still keep in touch to this very day. And to think it all started with a single trip of a wire…
Zoot the Saxer
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Jul 1, 2012
- Messages
- 121
- Reaction score
- 71
Wow, this story's really coming along! 
Awesomeness! happy 24th to JHH!
Awesomeness! happy 24th to JHH!
DramaQueenMokey
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Jun 28, 2011
- Messages
- 652
- Reaction score
- 402
Wow...
I loved this!
To be honest, as a kid Digit scared the stuffing out of me and that in fact, carried over into. My now adult life but, reading this, I realize he's not so scary
He's a great character with a kind heart in there somewhere and I feel like you really do put that out there in the best way possible
Solid Foam !!!!!!!! This last chapter made me especially happy ^^ I love them :') and I like how Clifford comes up with calling Digit by Digit, it's very cool and hip.
Can't wait for the next chapter!
I loved this!
To be honest, as a kid Digit scared the stuffing out of me and that in fact, carried over into. My now adult life but, reading this, I realize he's not so scary
He's a great character with a kind heart in there somewhere and I feel like you really do put that out there in the best way possible
Solid Foam
!!!!!!!! This last chapter made me especially happy ^^ I love them :') and I like how Clifford comes up with calling Digit by Digit, it's very cool and hip.Can't wait for the next chapter!